Things Worth Dying For
by Sunfreak
Summary: Sesshoumaru becomes the one thing that he can never forgive himself for being, and a few very unexpected people come along to pick up the pieces. Some yaoi.
1. Becoming What You Hate

A/N: New fic, la-la-la. *looks innocent* Well, people DID ask for it.  
  
Will most likely include yaoi in later chapters. If you've read my stuff before, you should know the pairing. If you haven't, you'll find out real soon. I've wanted to write this for a bit now, so with any luck it and "The Responsibility of Seeing In The Dark" should soon become my main focus. Fingers crossed, kids.  
  
*flees from wrath of enraged "Slayers REGAL" fans*  
  
Sesshoumaru's POV.  
  
  
  
"Becoming What You Hate"  
  
  
  
"You cannot slander human nature; it is worse than words can paint it."  
  
~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon  
  
  
  
It is impossible. It has to be trick, an illusion- anything but real.  
  
I stare at my hands in horror, and for the first time in a long time, that's what they are. MY hands, not a mismatched pair with someone else's stolen for to be my prosthesis. I'd love that, if it weren't for the simple fact that they are both human.  
  
That I am human.  
  
That my hair is black where it was white- that my claws have thinned and blunted to nubs and my markings vanished into my skin. That everything that made me unique and powerful is gone, and I am only one of these worthless cattle now, unrecognizable as the person I was. My armor is even too heavy to wear now, and I had to leave it behind as I ran like a frightened rabbit from the bastard who did this to me. I can only thank the gods that he was so old and fat that he chose not to follow.  
  
Still, I barely got anywhere before this frail body gave up and I was forced to my knees, gasping for breath and wishing more than anything that I could still fly, or at least command the loyalty of a lesser youkai to carry me faster. But no lesser youkai would ever even dream of submitting to a human, even a human that used to be the great Sesshoumaru.  
  
I knew better, really I did. There are certain spells and certain youkai that you just don't want to mess with; it's a fact of life. Jii is one of those, and I was a fool to think that I could beat him. Though I may be one of those youkai as well, it doesn't make me exempt from the others' powers.  
  
Or at least I WAS one of those youkai.  
  
But . . . he has stolen my Rin, and Jaken too. My only companions . . . Rin, who I literally delivered from death, and Jaken, who has been with me for so long that I have forgotten how long it has been since I stopped keeping track of the years. How couldn't I have taken Jii's challenge when it came?  
  
I cannot possibly have been so stupid as to let this happen to myself. To let myself fall prey to the same weaknesses that any human has, to become even weaker than my brother. This feeling . . . this slowly growing numbness inside of me . . . is this how he feels, when it is that time of the month that steals his powers away?  
  
No, I cannot believe that we have anything in common. He probably doesn't even notice the change; after all, he's lived with it all his life, hasn't he? He must be used to it.  
  
I finally get back to my feet, only to stumble directly into a mud puddle that could pass for a small swamp with an unpleasant squishing sound. This is quite possibly going to be the worst experience of my admittedly lengthy life.  
  
Assuming I survive it, anyway.  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
. : review the story. make an old author happy : . 


	2. Like You Have A Choice

A/N: Changed the story's title from "Seeing Is Believing" to "Things Worth Dying For." The first one was just a little too cliché for my tastes, but I couldn't think of anything better at the time. Sorry if I confused anyone there.  
  
And I know it has been WAY too long since I've updated- the Internet was being evil and not working at all. Hopefully this won't be a problem again. I feel kind of bad about it, especially since I got so many reviews on the prologue . . . darned temperamental cable modem.  
  
Miroku's POV.  
  
  
  
"Like You Have A Choice"  
  
  
  
"The saying that beauty is but skin deep is but a skin-deep saying."  
  
~ Herbert Spencer  
  
  
  
I am exhausted.  
  
It seems like we've been fighting nonstop for days now, but according to Kagome-sama's watch and judging by what little I can see of the sun through all the youkai and clouds in the sky, it's only been a few hours.  
  
Kagome-sama is long since out of arrows, and Shippou too hopelessly outmatched to be of any truly significant help, which means that our strongest fighter is tied up protecting them and can't properly use his more destructive techniques for fear of them being caught in the backlash. Sango, Kirara, and I are doing our best to take out the biggest of the threats, but we are not Inu-Yasha, and three against three hundred is not the best odds- besides that, my Air Rip can only consume so much evil aura before I pass out, and that would leave the others in worse trouble having to drag my dead weight along if I'm not very careful.  
  
As it is, we're barely managing to stay ahead of the thick of the herd, and though the damned coward Myouga seems to be concerned with exactly why such a massive rampage is going on, all that the rest of us have had time to focus on is fucking surviving, thank you very much, bloodsucker.  
  
I've been separated from the others for a few minutes of eternity now, but I can hear lovely Sango's battle cry and Inu- Yasha almost roaring near by- if I am lucky, I'll be able to meet up with them again in a little while. It's not like it can get any worse.  
  
Just as I finish forming this thought, irony strikes; it starts to pour and I hear a scream to my right, partially of pain but more of fury, and unthinkingly change my direction from my companions to the origin of that cry. It is human in origin, I am somehow certain. If it is someone who could be of assistance to us, I'd best save them- and I've come to learn that most people are of assistance if you save them from violent deaths.  
  
Of course, there are exceptions to any rule, but now is not the time to take part in such negative thinking.  
  
I slice my way through a few lesser youkai, swallow a couple of the stronger ones, and sneak past the strongest, reaching the source of the scream with relative ease despite the sudden rain. It is a clearing- not very large, and its grass almost black with blood that the downpour has not yet washed away. In the center, a small swarm of youkai no bigger than Shippou but with claws that would make Inu-Yasha green with envy surround a figure in a bloody, muddy, and shredded kimono, laughing in high, keening voices and tearing at it with their teeth and nails.  
  
The figure screams again, this time in nothing but rage despite its many wounds, and strikes fruitlessly at the creatures. Unfortunately, they're simply too fast and dodge with ease.  
  
"Damn you!" the figure howls, and I idly identify it as male as I rush forward, swinging my staff out ahead of me in a brutish move. It lacks finesse, but cleaves through the diminutive youkai like tissue paper, and the survivors are instantly all focused on me, abandoning their original victim to fly straight at my face.  
  
"Get down!" I yell, and sweep the end of my staff under his feet just to make sure he gets the message as I tear the rosary knot open with my teeth. None of them even know what hit them- the man's in the mud and the youkai are gone before they even begin to realize what I'm doing. For a moment, at least, the area seems to be clear, though the rain is cutting my visibility.  
  
I quickly rewrap my hand and look down to the man on the ground. He growls under his breath and jerks his head up out of the muck to glare at me. Distantly, I feel my eyes take leave of their sockets in a way usually reserved for women.  
  
He is beautiful. Even covered in mud and soaking wet and with his clothes maimed beyond any form of salvation or recognition, even with tears of frustration staining his face and his own blood dripping from at least a dozen different places, this man is absolutely fucking beautiful.  
  
"Why did you save me?" he demands in a low, harsh voice, and I am snapped back to reality, where I can think of nothing to say.  
  
"You screamed," I reply finally. "That is generally understood to be a universal request for assistance. Thusly, I assisted." He growls again and for some odd reason or another, I am tempted to go weak in the knees.  
  
He gets to his feet and snarls, "I need no assistance from YOU," then spins on his heel and storms back towards the forest. I feel vaguely insulted as I stare at his retreating back.  
  
" . . . My name is Miroku," I say quietly, more to myself than him, it seems. "Who are you?"  
  
He pauses right at the tree line and glances back at me, giving me a slightly odd look through almost golden eyes. Then, uneasily, he replies, "I am called . . . Shou."  
  
Ridiculously pleased with this information, I beam at him and say, "Well, Shou-sama, you'd best not go that way unless you want to die. There's a rather large swarm of youkai out tonight, and you don't seem prepared to go walking straight into their midst."  
  
Shou pales slightly and lifts a hand to one of the nastier slashes on his arm. They aren't very deep wounds, but they seem to have bled a great deal. He's lucky- those youkai were only toying with him, else he'd have been dead before he even could scream. Judging by the length of his hair and how soft and pale his skin appears (not to mention his failure to give me a family name) it seems likely that he's from a reasonably wealthy background, and not one that ever included a samurai ancestor.  
  
"Don't worry. I'll protect you."  
  
Eh? Who said that?  
  
"I need no help," Shou says unconvincingly, giving me a cold look.  
  
Oh, it was me. Damn, but I'm an idiot.  
  
"Would you rather die than take help from a lowly monk?" I ask mockingly. No point in giving up that easily now that I've already made a damned fool of myself. I could get some decent money out of this if his family's glad enough to see him alive again, after all.  
  
"Yes," Shou replies simply, and with perfect honesty.  
  
Mentally, I do a double take, but my smile never wavers. "Shame, then, that I'll be helping you anyway," I remark mildly, slinging my staff over one shoulder and rocking back on my heels slightly.  
  
He glares at me again, but before any real fuss can be put up, he finally faints from the blood loss. I'll admit, he held out much longer than I'd anticipated. Personally, I was expecting him to pass out as soon as he realized that he was actually bleeding.  
  
I pull him to me and cast a shield around the two of us to conceal our presence. I can still faintly hear the sounds of the others' battle, and keep a careful ear in their direction. If I so much as think I hear Sango scream I'll be able to get there in less than a minute.  
  
I just hope that a minute won't be too late.  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
. : be a philanthropist-type. review : . 


	3. Losing Yourself In Someone Else

A/N: Yay, another chapter! -^_^- And the boys get to cuddle! X3 This is my favorite kind of story to write; absolutely loaded with sexual tension- and by the time I'm done, you're all gonna want to smack me from all the unresolved sexy bits I'm planning on. *evil chortle*  
  
Sesshoumaru's POV.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Losing Yourself In Someone Else"  
  
  
  
  
  
"This above all: to thine own self be true."  
  
~Shakespeare; "Macbeth"  
  
  
  
  
  
I awake to a feeling of strange, soft warmth, and automatically nuzzle into it, thinking with nostalgia of the days when I used to sleep by my parents' sides. A hand briefly smoothes my hair off my face, and a voice murmurs, "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," in a tone that I haven't heard for years, maybe decades. Maybe ever.  
  
My eyes blink open slowly and I pull myself to a sitting position, finding my process halted by a staff across my chest and a strong, slender pair of arms. "Wha . . . ?" I mutter, still mostly asleep. Does it really take humans so long to wake up? No wonder they're so easy to kill if you catch them in bed.  
  
"It's alright," that same voice promises in that same tone, and I half-turn in the embrace to find that pet monk of my brother's smiling at me in that infernal way he does. Oh, I hate such smiles. They are low tricks, deceptive and constantly hiding the true feelings.  
  
I idly recall one of the few times I saw him without it- right after he swallowed the poison of the wasps I'd released. Thinking back on that now, I feel slightly ill. I imagine it must have something to do with being human. Yet at the same time, I feel a sort of morbid pleasure for having been one of the rare creatures who could shake that precious mask of his to its very core.  
  
"Are you okay, Shou-sama?" the monk asks, and I am reminded that he doesn't recognize me. Well, why should he? I certainly don't look like myself, and on top of that, I am filthy and wounded; two conditions that I very rarely enter, especially not in tandem.  
  
"I am fine," I say stiffly. "Release me."  
  
"You may not want me to do that," he warns, tipping his head to the side.  
  
I automatically glance in the indicated direction and barely keep myself from flinching. Three huge onii are lounging at the edge of the clearing.  
  
"Don't worry. I've a barrier up, so they cannot find us unless we break it ourselves. Just don't move if you can help it and we'll be fine," the monk says softly. What was his name again . . . Mi-something?  
  
He has a nice voice.  
  
The position I've managed to get myself in is awkward; my stomach pressed up against his chest and my back uncomfortably arched. Worse, his mouth is at my throat, so when he talks, his breath tickles me.  
  
"You don't have to worry," he promises again, and I barely choke back a chuckle at the sensation, much to my own humiliation. He raises an eyebrow at me, then understanding dawns in his eyes. "Oh- ticklish much?"  
  
"Sh-shut up," I gasp out past my suppressed laughter. "I have- sensitive skin."  
  
A truly wicked look crosses the monk's face and he laughs as well. "How sensitive?" he asks with innocent curiosity, which immediately arouses my suspicions. I give him a glare; he chuckles again and . . .  
  
. . . blushes?  
  
How odd.  
  
"They're finally leaving," he says in relief, looking over my shoulder at the retreating onii. I sigh in equal relief and also with a trace of the annoyance I feel at BEING relieved. If I were still youkai, those weaklings would have been no more than a moment's trouble.  
  
The fact of the matter is, they wouldn't have been ANY trouble, because they wouldn't even be out like this. But with the great demon of the western lands having mysteriously "vanished", the demons in the area all appear to be celebrating their newfound power with a bloodbath.  
  
The monk is alone. I wonder if my brother and his bitch are dead.  
  
The monk slowly gets to his feet, body kept tense just in case, and careful not to knock me over. "It's safe," he whispers after a long, strangely alarming pause. "They're gone. Come, we must get away from here while we've the chance."  
  
"How long was I asleep?" I ask quietly, ignoring the hand he offers me and standing on my own, only then realizing how badly I ache and recognizing that I wear almost as many bandages as clothes. The cloth around my wounds is stained so dark with blood that it looks almost purple. Then I look at his outfit and recall than there had been another layer to it, and that it had been this color.  
  
"Most of the afternoon, and all night," the monk replies, idly tucking a few loose strands of hair behind his ear. The rain has lightened to a very faint drizzle. "The sun's barely risen."  
  
That long, and still I am bleeding? I shudder in disgust and wince as the motion pulls at unhealed gashes. The monk again offers me a hand and I just glare at him.  
  
"You can't walk on your own; you'll make yourself sick," the monk says, sounding vaguely annoyed. As if I care what he thinks of my situation.  
  
"I don't need help," I snort at him and spin on my heel to leave. Unfortunately though, when I stop the world keeps going and I wind up falling straight backwards into that bastard monk's arms.  
  
"Sure about that?" he asks dryly, smiling slightly as he looks down at me. He looks remarkably attractive upside down.  
  
. . . exactly how much blood have I lost?  
  
"I really am ill, aren't I," I admit unhappily.  
  
"A brilliant deduction indeed," the monk retorts. "Let me help you."  
  
I hate the idea of allowing anyone to do such a thing, but I have always known my limits, and this body is wet and wounded and definitely not in any shape to be lollygagging about in a forest full of youkai. I grudgingly acquiesce and he smiles . . . what a low trick . . . and squats on his haunches.  
  
"Get on my back," he directs. "I'll carry you 'til you get your full strength back." What an ironic statement. That might be a while, thanks to Jii.  
  
I give him another angry look, but do as he says. He is right, disgusting as the idea is. I cannot say that I enjoy being so close to a human- another human, now that I think of it- but he isn't exactly hideous, nor is he cruel, so I suppose that I'll survive.  
  
I don't think I've been carried like this since my mother died.  
  
He starts walking, humming some inane tune or another under his breath, and I let myself relax slightly. My muscles nearly sob with delight. Neither of us speaks for a long time; he too busy tracking something and I too busy worrying about the safety of a couple of people I'd rather not have to.  
  
"What did you say your name was?" I ask when the silence between us finally becomes too much to bear and my thoughts of Rin and Jaken's fates too disturbing to dwell on any longer.  
  
"Miroku," he replies, seeming unperturbed by my poor memory. He turns his head to look at me and grins wickedly. "It means 'deranged monk.' "  
  
Figures.  
  
I glare at him and he chuckles. "You are a very interesting person, Shou-sama," he tells me.  
  
"Go to Hell," I growl.  
  
"Maybe later," he replies glibly, and I'm about to snap at him again when I hear a delighted girl's voice shouting. For an instant, the ridiculous hope that it is Rin enters my head and my breath catches.  
  
However, a moment later Inu-Yasha's human mate appears out of the trees with a fistful of broken arrows and a kitsune on her shoulder, throwing herself at the mon- at Miroku. I mentally kick myself for getting my hopes up.  
  
"Miroku-sama!" she cries in relief. "You're okay!"  
  
"It would appear so, Kagome-sama," he agrees with a faint smile. "Where are the others?"  
  
A worried look crosses her face, and she pulls away. "Sango is making sure there aren't any more youkai in the area, and Inu- Yasha snuck off around dawn," she says softly. "He didn't even leave a note . . . "  
  
"Are you sure he can write?" I ask with no small amount of acidity, and she blinks in surprise, seeming just to notice me, as Miroku rolls his eyes in exasperation. Okay, let's take away all YOUR powers and see YOU be chipper, rosary-boy.  
  
Wait, scratch that- he WANTS to get rid of that "Air Rip," or whatever it's called.  
  
Damn. Well, there goes a perfectly good analogy.  
  
"I'm pretty sure he can . . . " Inu-Yasha's mate looks thoughtful, actually taking my barb as a serious question. Considering the literacy rate in this area, it's not such a surprise, I suppose, but I WAS going for insulting. Inu-Yasha is a lord's son after all, no matter how slovenly he acts.  
  
"Come on, Kagome, this is Inu-Yasha that we're talking about," the kitsune retorts flatly.  
  
"Good point," she mutters.  
  
"I HEARD THAT!" a voice bellows, and my brother storms into the clearing, Tetsusaiga slung over one shoulder and glaring at his woman and the kit with an expression not unlike the one he wears when glaring at me.  
  
"So you can't, then," the kitsune assumes, and gets whapped upside the head for his troubles.  
  
"Of course I can!" Inu-Yasha fumes, and I try to shrink down behind the monk's shoulders, praying for an act of God. If he recognizes me, he'll eat me. And I do mean that literally.  
  
"Don't worry, he's only half-youkai," Miroku assures me as he utterly misinterprets my desire to remain unseen and simultaneously defeats my purpose. "He's just an overgrown puppy, really."  
  
"Who's a puppy, bozou?!" Inu-Yasha snarls.  
  
"Osuwari," his mate says flatly, and my half-brother is instantly eating dirt.  
  
"See, Shou-sama?" Miroku chuckles at the sight, and I have to admit that it was amusing to watch, though it made no sense. But judging by my brother's necklace's sudden, unbreakable attraction to the ground, I think I can safely assume it to be a spell of some variety or another.  
  
"It's a miko thing," the girl explains when she notices my stare, smiling sweetly at me. "Anyway- my name is Kagome; this is Shippou, and the dog-boy JERK down there is Inu-Yasha. Who are you?"  
  
"Ah . . . " Strange, I can't seem to speak. Am I . . . shaking? Why on earth am I suddenly so nervous?  
  
"This is Shou-sama," Miroku says cheerfully. "I met him last night after we were separated, Kagome-sama."  
  
"He . . . He saved me," I say quietly, slightly uncertain as to why I feel the need to point this out. I tighten my grip across his shoulders and he looks back to smile at me.  
  
I shiver and bury my face in the back of his neck, only now realizing how very cold I am; my clothes and skin still damp with rain and a bit stiff with the blood caked there. My brother growls in disgust; and I barely bite back my own answering snarl, nuzzling in further just to be certain that I make no noise.  
  
How strangely comforting it is to be this close to someone again. To be able to be weak, and hide in someone else.  
  
To be anything . . . but myself . . .  
  
Miroku gives me a thoughtful look and another smile, and for some reason I am not quite so cold anymore.  
  
  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
  
  
. : review and praise Buddha! : . 


	4. An Odd Sort Of Beauty

A/N: Ahh! :X I'm so sorry that this took so long! *hides from wrath of the readers* Now, everybody go and thank Ice Puppet for both being the fiftieth reviewer of this fic and reminding that baka Sunfreak to get off her lazy ass and work in it again. ^_^;;  
  
Miroku's POV.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"An Odd Sort Of Beauty"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"I had no time to hate, because  
  
The grave would hinder me,  
  
And life was not so ample I  
  
Could finish enmity.  
  
Nor had I time to love; but since  
  
Some industry must be,  
  
The little toil of love, I thought,  
  
Was large enough for me."  
  
  
  
~ Emily Dickinson  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Shou is a strange kind of man; beautiful in an odd way, though this is the first time I've ever really thought of a man as "beautiful." I feel rather responsible for him, I suppose. In a way I guess I am, since I saved him.  
  
I would like to make sure he remains safe.  
  
Inu-Yasha doesn't seem to care much for him though- he keeps giving him the strangest looks, as if he can't quite put a finger on something about him. I can't either, to be honest; there's something oddly familiar in Shou, and at the same time my mind screams "something's wrong!" my very soul whispers "he needs you."  
  
I'll give anyone who wishes one guess as to which I listened to. After all, I live under a death curse; there is no time to refuse my heart's desires, however unusual they may be. So I will protect him for as long as I can.  
  
On my back, he stirs slightly- he has already slept away all the afternoon, but I am careful not to wake him all the same. He needs rest. Besides, this state of repose makes him beautiful- in an odd way, that is.  
  
Am I repeating myself?  
  
"Mi . . . roku?" he murmurs sleepily, eyes blearily opening. And oh, what eyes they are . . .  
  
"Yes, Shou-sama?" I inquire, smiling back at him.  
  
He frowns and rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Where are we?" he mumbles.  
  
"I'm afraid I've no idea," I reply cheerfully. "We're looking for our last two companions- they've been gone a while now, you see. As in, long enough to assume that they've run into a fix of some kind or another."  
  
"Oh," he says, and licks his lips slightly. He has a fascinating mouth. "Um, do you think . . . is there any water around here?"  
  
"No idea," I repeat with a guilty chuckle. "Inu-Yasha?" I call ahead.  
  
"That way." Inu-Yasha points but does not turn to face us. "Weak humans- always needing to stop every five minutes," he adds in a low mutter.  
  
I smile good-naturedly, more than used to his rough manners, and then blink in surprise as I feel Shou bristling in anger on my back. I glance back to him, and he is glaring at Inu-Yasha and digging his nails into my shoulders.  
  
"Ow?" I suggest calmly and he looks back to me, seeming just to realize what he is doing.  
  
"Didn't mean to," he murmurs, and loosens his grip. It's no apology, but it's something.  
  
"You puzzle me," I tell him thoughtfully, and he gives me a bemused look. His cheeks are red. "Are you cold?" I ask.  
  
" . . . maybe," he 'admits,' tone grudging.  
  
"Inu-Yasha . . . " Kagome gives him a meaningful look, briefly tugging at his sleeve.  
  
Inu-Yasha snorts, disgusted. "Why am I always the one loaning my clothes out to strangers?" he demands, though already resigned and shucking off his outer shirt. He throws it back at us and it hits Shou in the face. "Can you stand up long enough to put that on, or does the bozou need to dress you?" he asks sourly.  
  
Shou's eyes narrow and he shoves away from me, nearly toppling over in the process. I barely catch him in time, and as soon as I have, he pushes away again and falls anyway.  
  
"You don't have to take everything he says so personally," I say in exasperation, leaning over to grab the dropped shirt.  
  
"Yeah, Inu-Yasha's just a jerk by nature," Shippou adds, crossing his arms and glaring at said hanyou.  
  
Inu-Yasha bops him upside the head reflexively. "Shut up, you little bastard!" he snarls.  
  
Shou draws himself to his full height and looks down his nose at Inu-Yasha. I'm surprised to see that this lordling is actually taller than him. "Watch your tongue, boy," he says sternly. "Did your mother raise you to be a brute?"  
  
Dangerous territory. Very, VERY dangerous territory. Inu-Yasha looks ready to take Shou's head off.  
  
"Come on, let's get you that drink," I say quickly, giving Shou a cheerful smile and leading him away from the fuming hanyou. "And put on that shirt, would you? Your skin is practically crimson with the cold."  
  
"I need nothing from that arrogant little child!" Shou snaps, and tries to shove the offending article away when I offer it to him.  
  
"You'll get sick," I scold as we approach the water- a lake, rather well sized. I think I'll take a bath later. I've a few wounds to clean, and I think I may have reopened the few I did have patched up from carrying Shou for so long. I'm sure we both reek of both youkai and our own blood.  
  
Shou takes the shirt, but doesn't put it on. He just kneels carefully by the water and leans down to lap it up, doglike, clutching the shirt to his chest. Stubborn bastard.  
  
I sigh dramatically and plop down next to him. "Just wear it, Shou-sama," I advise. "Even if you're angry with him, you need better clothes- yours are absolutely mauled."  
  
"I need nothing," Shou says in a low voice, but he shivers as a cold breeze comes in off the lake. So I do the first thing that comes to mind.  
  
I pull him into my lap even though he's a bit taller than I am and wrap my arms around him for warmth, burying my face in his neck. He gasps in shock and stiffens for a moment . . . and then he absolutely melts against me, shivering again.  
  
"So damn COLD . . . " he hisses helplessly, frustration evident in his tone. "I've never been this cold in my life. I- I just can't believe how weak this body is!"  
  
"But just because the body is weak doesn't mean the soul is," I murmur, pulling Inu-Yasha's shirt up around him. "You don't have to hide it when it hurts. We wouldn't think less of you."  
  
"You don't understand," Shou says tightly. "I can't show weakness. Not ever."  
  
I sigh again and release him. "If you say so," I reply, getting to my feet.  
  
"Y-You're leaving me?!" Shou cries, jumping up and nearly stumbling.  
  
"Eh?" I blink at him. "No, of course not. What gave you that idea?"  
  
"N-nothing," he says quickly. "Just- nothing."  
  
"I'm just going to get cleaned up," I explain, reaching to untie my robes. "You should too."  
  
"R . . . right," he says slowly, and shucks the remains of his own in one fluid motion. I raise an eyebrow. That could prove to be a rather useful talent in certain circles.  
  
He really is beautiful, in an odd sort of way.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
. : 'tis the season to review : . 


	5. ‘Hello,’ I Lied

A/N: Thanks to Katalyst and bakabaka for helping (or in bakabaka's case, insistently prodding) me out of my writer's block with this chappie! Merry Christmas, guys!  
  
Added A/N (12/21/02): Edited for stupidly misused pronouns (thank you, Kat, for telling me about 'em!).  
  
Sesshoumaru's POV.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"'Hello,' I Lied"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Gods have no one to pray to."  
  
~"Small Gods"; Terry Pratchett  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Gah!" I yelp as icy needles of water strike me. I jerk my feet out of the water and glare accusingly at the monk who'd kicked it and splashed me. "It's freezing!"  
  
He laughs again, in that same old low-trick way. "Well, of course," he says in amusement. "Does this look like a hot spring to you, Shou-sama?"  
  
"Oh, shut up." I scowl at him and he laughs again. Damn him. He's making me forget myself again- after all, I'm a youkai lord, not some prissy human brat. How did I even get talked into this? "Hurry up and get undressed," I order, and again, that stupid laugh!  
  
I want to pluck out his eyeballs and pop them between my teeth.  
  
"After you," he chirps, and shoves me in the lake. I literally shriek with the shock- I've never felt such cold in all my life! And yes- again, he laughs at me.  
  
Pop pop, monk. Pop pop.  
  
"Can't take the cold?" Miroku teases. I imagine that I could very easily learn to hate this man.  
  
He smiles at me- low, low trick!- and offers me a hand up. Gods save me, but I resort to the most juvenile means of revenge I ever have in my life.  
  
I take his hand . . . and yank him down into the lake with me. And still, he's laughing despite the cold. I don't think that I have ever met such a happy person before.  
  
"Idiot," I mutter. He smiles at me, and an uncomfortable feeling twists in my stomach. Great, now he's making me sick.  
  
"Don't be such a prude," Miroku tells me, loosening his ponytail but not taking it out fully. For some reason, that annoys me. Then again, so does just about everything about him. True, I'm grateful that he saved me (grudgingly grateful, mind), but that doesn't mean that I have to like him.  
  
For example- he's still fully dressed, and the only thing even pretending to preserve my modesty is the wealth of bandages I wear. Somehow, I think this is unfair, and I'm tempted to voice the sentiment. Then he takes his clothes off anyway, and I gasp.  
  
Miroku is a wreck.  
  
Not meaning that he's somehow unattractive, but that all that blood he's drenched in isn't just that of the youkai he destroyed and mine. Long, angry wounds crisscross his pale skin like crimson lightning in an inverted sky, and my own pain and anger pall at the sight.  
  
He carried me all day like that?  
  
Really?  
  
"Miroku . . . " I begin softly, and he shrugs me off.  
  
"It's nothing," he lies with a smile. "Certainly appears worse than it is."  
  
"Bastard," I hiss, getting up to my knees. "Don't lie to my face."  
  
"Very well," he says agreeably. "Turn about and I'll lie to the back of your head."  
  
I glower at him. "Don't make jokes- how badly are you off?"  
  
His smile wavers slightly. "I'm fine, Shou-sama," he insists.  
  
"No, you're not!" I yell, and grab his shoulders. The faint hiss of pain it brings from him is more than enough proof of his already plain-as-day injuries' seriousness. "Idiot," I say quietly, carefully loosening my grip. "You're only hurting yourself more."  
  
He gives me a long look, and then lays his cursed hand on my cheek. "Do you know," he begins solemnly, "why I wear this glove?"  
  
"No," I immediately lie.  
  
"It is because I am cursed," Miroku tells me, his eternally smiling eyes for once grim. "There is a void in my palm which can devour my enemies, and will, in time, devour me as well. This is why I lie. This is why I do not tell people when I suffer. I haven't enough time in this world to waste it whining."  
  
My stomach is tight again, and the place where his hand holds my face is hot.  
  
"Do you understand?" Miroku asks quietly. He still hasn't moved his hand.  
  
"You're scared," I accuse. For some reason, though, my voice sounds weak. "You don't want to admit your limitations."  
  
Miroku smiles again, and it's bitter this time. "Correct," he says serenely, and I suddenly want to kiss him. Unthinkingly, I lift my own hands to clasp his face and lean down until we are but a breath apart. He just smiles at me and pulls away.  
  
"You're very silly, Shou-sama," he murmurs, leaning in towards me again and nuzzling his face against my neck. I feel his smile, star-hot against my skin.  
  
You know, I think I'd really like that smile, if it weren't always such a lie.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
. : review. what, you need a reason? : .  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's shameless pimp-age of her darling Katalyst: For those of you who wanna kill me for all of the unresolved sexual tension (and I guarantee right now that there's a lot more coming), go read Katalyst's stuff for Sesshoumaru x Miroku that actually includes the "x"! *rawr* You know you want it. 


	6. Ink and Paper

A/N: baka deshi reviewed "Flowers In Love" despairing of this poor story's fate, so I, feeling extremely guilty, ran off to finish this installment as quickly as I could. Unfortunately, I got grounded about five minutes later. ^_^;;  
  
I'm sorry; I've been neglectful! *looks nervously at "The Skin I'm In," which has dropped to #30-something in the update list* But school's been a killer, especially lately, so I'm afraid updates probably won't get much faster unless someone out there hits me over the head with the inspiration mallet. Plus, well . . . I just haven't felt like writing for Inu-Yasha for a while now. I've been doing Digimon and Yu-Gi-Oh! instead. *sighs* Maybe when I finally get my hands on a couple more volumes of IY, I'll be able to work with these guys more.  
  
Oh, and for those of you happy to see this chappie, go thank my darling Katalyst- she promised to write more Sessmiro if I did. ^_~ And also dear tdei, who did beta-ing and made suggestions.  
  
Miroku's POV. A bit lime-ish. And hey, traces of plot! O_O;; How'd that get in here?  
  
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*  
  
"Ink and Paper"  
  
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*  
  
"So lonely am I   
  
My body is a floating weed   
  
Severed at the roots.   
  
Were there water to entice me,   
  
I would follow it, I think."  
  
~Ono no Komachi  
  
*  
  
*  
  
Shou-sama pushes me away even as he takes my face in his hands again, and my own fingers lace together behind his neck. His eyes really do look gold, I realize distantly. Not some gaudy yellow, but a hazy, dull glitter.  
  
He smells nice, under all that mud and blood. Instinctively, I start to unwrap the dirt-encrusted bandages that used to be part of my outfit and comb my fingers through his hair, dragging out the leaves and filth.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asks, a trace of annoyance in his voice.  
  
Damn, I was hoping he'd know.  
  
"I want to see what you really look like," I decide finally, rubbing at the mud on Shou-sama's chest. And I do want to know what he looks like cleaned up. I want to see if he's still beautiful.  
  
"Wh-what the hell?!" he squawks. "Don't DO that!" After a moment's confusion, I realize that my fingers have brushed over sensitive areas more than once during my ministrations- places you don't touch unless you mean to finish what you're starting.  
  
"Sorry," I say vaguely, and do it again.  
  
Shou-sama yelps and pushes me back a step. "Miroku!" he snaps, slightly breathless.  
  
"Sorry . . ." I whisper once more, and run my fingers down his sides. He's squirming under my touch, but not really trying to get away anymore. Does that mean he's uncomfortable, or does that mean that he likes it?  
  
I think that I like it.  
  
My hands are at his hips now. His face is pink, and he isn't meeting my eyes.  
  
But he isn't saying "no" either.  
  
My face is buried in his throat before I know what I am doing. He smells wonderful. He's startled, though, and we end up falling down into the water. He comes up first, smoothing back his mangled hair and avoiding my eyes for a moment, his face still a brilliant red.  
  
"You're very beautiful," I say quietly as I rise to face him. His face reddens further, but he makes no move to stand, to escape, and instead looks over to me again.  
  
"So are you," he murmurs, staring at me almost bemusedly. "We should go back, though. You're bleeding again, and I don't think that I could bandage you properly. I've . . . never really had to do it before."  
  
"In a little while," I reply, still quiet. I'd hate to have to speak too loudly. For some reason, the very thought seems almost sacrilegious right now. Shou-sama just looks at me, perfectly solemn, and meets my eyes without hesitation.  
  
It's so warm here. Despite the freezing water and the wind, it's warm.  
  
I want to . . .  
  
I lift a hand to his face, and everything is suddenly ice again.  
  
My hand. The rosary. The Air Rip.  
  
Had I actually forgotten? Even just for a moment, had I really forgotten about it?  
  
"What is it?" Shou-sama looks confused, and I realize that I'm trembling.  
  
"Nothing, Shou-sama," I whisper, withdrawing my hand and trying not to stare at it. I fail miserably. "Just thinking."  
  
"Ah. About the void," Shou-sama realizes quietly, his eyes following mine.  
  
He's a clever bastard. Much too clever for someone like me, who needs to hide their heart away. And I want to push him away now, but I don't know how to do it. When Sango gets too close, I can grope her; if it's Inu-Yasha I can just say something about his feelings for Kagome-sama to distract him. Shippou- well, he's never been close enough to worry me, and Kagome-sama herself is too polite to trespass in my soul unless it is a life- or-death situation.  
  
But Shou-sama is more intelligent than Inu-Yasha, less empathic than Kagome-sama, and, unlike Sango, seems to at least tolerate being groped and can still carry on a conversation no matter where my hands are. I don't know how to stop him from noticing things.  
  
Besides . . . I almost think that I like seeing him look at me with those dull gold eyes, expecting something more of me than a toy smile.  
  
I don't realize that I'm crying until he wipes the tears away.  
  
"Let us finish and return to camp," he says, slightly coolly, as he finally gets to his feet and offers me a limp hand. "I think you need stitches."  
  
I take it lightly and stand without really drawing on him; wincing as half-healed wounds are pulled open again. He's already scrubbing at the remaining mud on himself with one of the less-stained bandages. His skin is even paler than I'd realized. I just watch him for a while, and he gives me a dubious look.  
  
"Get cleaned up," he orders with a voice used to being obeyed. Certainly a lord's son. I comply silently, still watching him. He looks back at me as he rinses the last of the mud away, and I shiver at seeing him like this.  
  
He's fucking gorgeous. Black hair like wet ink scribbled over parchment-pale skin, eyes huge and amber and still so damn close to gold I'd swear they were if I didn't know he was human.  
  
But he is human. He must be.  
  
Surely, he must be . . .  
  
And then Shippou bounces into the clearing and cannonballs into the water directly behind Shou-sama, who shouts in alarm and leaps forward into my arms.  
  
Shippou laughs at him while I secretly memorize the feeling of having his ink-and-paper skin pressed up against my own from thigh to forehead and his breath hot and harsh in my ear. I'm lucky not to faint on the spot.  
  
A moment later, Inu-Yasha enters the clearing as well, looking rather frazzled and clearly having been been "sat" again.  
  
"Kagome-sama wanted you to bathe also?" I assume. Judging from the irritated growl I receive in answer, that assumption is correct, and Kagome-sama's opinion was probably not expressed in the kindest terms possible.  
  
"Wow," Shippou says in surprise, staring over at Shou-sama. "You really clean up well, huh?"  
  
Shou-sama glowers at him. "What is THAT supposed to mean?" he demands.  
  
"Stop clinging to the monk like that!" Inu-Yasha snaps, throwing the remnants of Shou-sama's kimono at us. "You look like you're about to fuck each other!"  
  
"Are you trying to suggest something?!" Shou-sama shouts as he breaks away from me and I catch his robes. "You arrogant little pup, I'll kill you!" He cracks his knuckles- I'm surprised to see that he does it the same way Inu-Yasha always has, which I haven't often seen duplicated.  
  
"With WHAT, pray tell?" Inu-Yasha snarls in reply, shucking off his own clothes to join us in the water. "Bozou!" he adds, glaring at me and not letting Shou-sama respond. "Why the hell didn't you tell us you were that slashed up?! Kagome would've wanted to get some of her bandages on you!"  
  
"I will do it myself," I promise, neatly folding Shou-sama's shredded kimono and returning to the bank to reclaim my own outfit. "I'm finished here anyway."  
  
"Great," Inu-Yasha mutters, clearly displeased. "Abandon me with the baby and the woman."  
  
"EXCUSE me?" Shou-sama hisses in what was probably considered a very dangerous voice in his household. Here, where he has no power to back it up, it sounds almost silly. I decide that it would probably be foolish to leave him with Inu-Yasha- mostly for fear he'll get himself mauled; partly for fear he'll end up hating us and want to leave before I get to know him better.  
  
That would not be pleasant.  
  
Not at all.  
  
"Come with me," I say as I finish dressing, holding out my hand for his this time. "Help me with the bandages, perhaps. I'll teach you how to do it."  
  
"If you insist," Shou-sama mutters. I lean towards him slightly. He pushes me away, but then presses up to me for a brief moment before reclaiming his ruined clothes and beginning to put them on.  
  
Inu-Yasha snatches them away quickly. "Don't wear that crap!" he fumes. "You'll catch fucking hypothermia and then Kagome will make us hang around on your deathbed and give you a funeral!"  
  
"Like running around naked is any better?!" Shou-sama demands. I don't know about that- personally, I rather like the idea.  
  
"Just wear my jacket, asshole," Inu-Yasha orders. "I don't wanna have to watch Kagome play nursemaid to the likes of you."  
  
"I need nothing of yours, half-breed!" Shou snaps, and he might say more, but I press a hand to his mouth and pull him to me.  
  
"Stop, please," I request coldly. "Your family would prefer it, I am sure, if you would not insult those who have tried to help you despite not knowing you."  
  
He snorts. "Somehow I doubt they'd care."  
  
His attitude is terrible. Also terribly attractive, oddly enough.  
  
I think I'm really in trouble this time.  
  
Angry, Shou-sama snatches the jacket from the ground and stalks past me even as he wraps it around himself. Inu-Yasha, looking equally displeased, shreds Shou-sama's kimono and then throws it to the ground for good measure.  
  
"Keep that asshole in line," he orders flatly, glaring over to me. "You brought him; he's your responsibility."  
  
I fake a benign smile and decline to argue. It's not like I could anyway. Instead, I just reclaim the discarded clothes and follow Shou-sama back towards camp.  
  
It's hard to believe that a moment ago I was suspecting him of being some sort of youkai spy when I see what a horribly obvious trail he's left in the foliage.  
  
But it's a hell of a lot harder to believe that he got all the way out here alive leaving said trail.  
  
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* tbc . . . *  
  
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. : still water runs deep : . 


	7. Smoke In Your Eyes

A/N: Okay, it's official: I am in love with baka deshi. *clings, nuzzles* She can write insanely funny, downright terrifying, and incredibly depressing stuff and also leaves really, really good reviews.  
  
Sesshoumaru's POV. More of that "plot" stuff. Still shameless yaoi, of course. ^_~ And if ya'll want me to write faster, I do accept bribes. ^_~ A few people have told me that they've drawn art based off of this story, but I have yet to see any of it. T-T *in mourning*  
  
This is a really short chapter. -_-;; I'm sorry, but I needed to cut it off sooner than I'd planned . . . I was struck down by a plotbunny. So yay for evil subplots.  
  
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"Smoke In Your Eyes"  
  
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"Here's to me, and here's to you,  
  
And here's to love and laughter-  
  
I'll be true as long as you,  
  
And not one moment after."  
  
~ Irish toast  
  
*  
  
*  
  
It takes me more time than I would care to admit to find my way back towards my brother's mate and the kitsune (gods, I hope they've set up camp already), even though I can see the trail I left on my way here. I never realized before, but it seems that I've always relied rather heavily on scent for tracking. I'm not even going to think about how pathetically obvious my trail was that I could still find it anyway.  
  
Miroku suddenly appears next to me, taking my hand, and I flinch in shock before I can stop myself. A week ago, he wouldn't have been able to get within a hundred yards of me without my knowledge. Today, he's invaded my three feet of personal space and I hadn't even noticed until he touched me.  
  
Let's just pretend that I let him.  
  
"You get used to him, don't worry," Miroku tells me with a quick, but blessedly genuine, smile.  
  
"Inu-Yasha?" I snap. Even that smile can't lighten my mood so easily. "Oh, yes, I'm sure I'll get used to his arrogant, overbearing, selfish, heartless, rude, demeaning, irritating, attention-hogging-"  
  
"You don't have to list his flaws; I know him very well," Miroku says dryly, lightly rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. I automatically return the gesture with a frustrated sigh.  
  
"He just drives me absolutely INSANE," I reply through gritted teeth, tightening my grip on the monk.  
  
"You sound like Kagome-sama," he says with a laugh, threading the fingers of his free hand into my hair and bringing a lock of it to his lips as we slow to a stop.  
  
"You make no sense," I mutter, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.  
  
"Why not?" He looks surprised for a moment, but it passes quickly and he changes the subject, releasing my hair with a slightly wistful look. "We should braid your hair, I think. Or at least pull it back somehow."  
  
"What for?" I ask suspiciously.  
  
"So it won't get this tangled again, of course!" Miroku replies with a chuckle, knotting his hands deeply in it. He's probably causing more tangles than he's unraveling at this point, but I'm just too drained to hurt him for it.  
  
"Fine," I say wearily, closing my eyes and sighing. "I don't care." My eyes feel strange. Slightly sore and hot: as if they're about to fall out of my head- along with the rest of my fragile grip on reality.  
  
I want my Rin. I want my Jaken.  
  
And I want to kill that bastard Jii for reducing me to this shivering, whining brat that I am. I don't want to be like this! I'm not supposed to be like this!  
  
"Please don't worry," Miroku murmurs, and I open my eyes again to see him looking at me with concern, removing his hands from my hair to cup my face. "I know you're upset, but whatever's wrong, I'll help you fix it."  
  
"And if you can't?" I ask flatly. "What will you do then?"  
  
"Nothing. I won't need to," he promises. "We'll fix it."  
  
Oh gods, but I wish he weren't lying.  
  
"You can't," I say. "Don't bother."  
  
"If you'd tell me-"  
  
"No," I snap, yanking free of him. "You can't. So don't go acting like some fucking hero, okay? I don't need your false sympathy, monk."  
  
"I'm trying to help you, Shou-sama," Miroku says coldly. "You can't pretend you don't need it."  
  
"There is nothing that you can DO!" I yell. "If I am unable to deal with it, what could someone like YOU do?!"  
  
He is angry now- I can smell it, just barely. Such a faint scent to a human nose . . . I don't think I'd have been able to recognize it at all if I didn't know it would be there. I might not have even noticed it, to be honest.  
  
But he is angry. And I am angry, and I can smell him and I want to kill him so badly that I could scream, but there's nothing that I can do in this body except get myself hurt.  
  
So I turn away from him, vaguely aware of another scent on the air- a smoky, woody one. There is a fire somewhere nearby.  
  
"Do you smell that?" I ask quietly. I'm too tired to fight right now.  
  
"The smoke? Yes," he replies with a small nod. He looks upset with himself.  
  
I don't want to trust him. He's human. I hate humans. They're worthless wastes of life. Cowardly and fragile and unappreciative- and they think that they're the greatest thing on the face of the earth, when the lowliest youkai makes them run screaming.  
  
This is not only their world, yet they seem to think they have the right to rule it, even when they are so pathetically weak and selfish. And they dare to say that all youkai are so evil as they!  
  
Self-righteous creatures. I hate them. I am not calling myself a saint, but then again, at least I never pretended to be one.  
  
There's no way that I can trust them.  
  
I sigh and step forward again, away from him, from here, from everything he's reminding me of, making me think of . . .  
  
I get less than five meters before walking right off an overhang and landing on a youkai.  
  
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* tbc . . . *  
  
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. : i would rather have you and all your wicked thorns than a million of the reddest roses . . . : . 


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